


Flirting and Fire Alarms

by ama



Series: Philly Life [1]
Category: Band of Brothers, The Pacific (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crushes, Flirting, Foreign Language, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-29
Updated: 2015-04-29
Packaged: 2018-03-26 09:55:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3846559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ama/pseuds/ama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is 3 am, and it is cold, and Gene is tired, and this is probably the worst possible occasion for him to start awkwardly flirting with one of the Hot 4th Floor Guys, but his idiot roommate lit the toaster on fire so he might as well make the best of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flirting and Fire Alarms

**Author's Note:**

> I asked for Snafu/Roe prompts, and antiquecompass was more than happy to provide. The prompt was "The au where they're both bayou boys who have moved to the same big northern city and wound up in the same apt building but they never really talked until one night when an asshole sets the fire alarm off at 3 in the morning when there's snow on the ground and one hears the other cursing fantastically in some Cajun French and is like "Holy shit, HOME.""

Eugene Roe was a patient guy, he really was, and he had gotten used to keeping odd hours somewhere between college and med school, and he was better with northern weather than he used to be, and he really did like his roommate--but at 3 am on a February night, when Babe had set the fire alarm off while trying to make toast and the whole building was standing outside in the snow as a result, he found that he had somehow lost every bit of patience he had ever had.

“I am _so_ sorry,” Babe said, rubbing his hands together. “Jesus Christ, I am _so_ sorry.”

“Fuck you,” Gene retorted, in French, because it annoyed Babe when he wouldn’t translate anything he said.

“Gene, come on--”

“Fuck you, you useless goddamn idiot, I am going to skin you and use your corpse to pass my anatomy midterm, which is tomorrow by the way so fuck you for that, too--”

“ _English_ , Gene!

“--and how the fuck do you start a fire making toast, by the way? You are twenty-three goddamn years old, you fuckhead. Not that I really care how, because no matter what I am going to shoot you dead and get on a train home where it is _warm_ and where I can feed you to the alligators.”

He paused to yawn and there was a low, approving whistle in his ear. Gene froze from his quite-literally frozen toes to the top of his head, because one of the Hot 4th Floor Guys (really, in his opinion, the Hottest 4th Floor Guy) was standing right behind him.

“C’est impressionnant,” he said, and Gene was going to die. “I’m not sure I could even come up with something that creative at this time of night, and I’m an asshole.”

“Yeah, well,” Gene mumbled. “Desperate times.”

The guy grinned at him and Babe subtly dug an elbow into Gene’s side. Gene elbowed him back without looking because yes he was perfectly aware of whom he was speaking to, thank you, and he was also perfectly, painfully aware of how much time he had spent with Babe speculating if any of the Hot 4th Floor Guys were queer and if any of them were dating each other. He was also kicking himself, because how in the hell had he never noticed that the vaguely-familiar drawl in the guy’s voice (heard occasionally in passing) was more than just vaguely-familiar, but Cajun? He had had a ready-made excuse for conversation all this time and never knew it. Fuck.

“I’m Snafu, by the way,” he said. He nodded to the other guys at his side, one brunette and wearing a warm-looking coat, the other redheaded and wrapped in a blanket. “And that’s Burgie and Sledge, my roommates.”

“Nice to meet you. Babe--” He half turned and Babe was at his side instantly, all smiles. Gene tried very hard not to roll his eyes. “This is the jackass who started the fire,” he said. “I’m Gene.”

“So where are you from?” Snafu asked, his eyes fixed on Gene’s. “And how the hell did you end up in this godforsaken place?”

“Baton Rouge, originally. I came up to New York for college--that was actually worse, weather wise--and now I’m here for medical school.”

“Which school?” Hot Redhead Roommate (either Sledge or Burgie) asked.

“Penelman?”

“Damn, that’s pretty good, isn’t it?” he said, and Gene managed to place another Southern accent--Alabama this time, he thought. “What’s--”

“Sledge’s dad’s a doctor,” Snafu interrupted. “So he’s always pretending like he is, too.”

“Jackass,” Sledge muttered.

“What about you?” Gene asked Snafu. “Whereabouts in Louisia you from?”

“All over, pretty much,” he shrugged. “Started out in St. Francisville, then moved to Lafayette when I was a kid, then some of the suburbs around Lafayette. Then New Orleans--” (God it was so good to hear those words from the mouth of someone who knew how to say them) “--for a few years until Burgie convinced me a change of scenery would be good.”

He pulled a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket, lit one, and offered another to Gene.

“Snaf, the man told you _thirty seconds ago_ that he’s going to be a doctor,” Hot Roommate #2--Burgie--said, exasperated.

“So no smoke?” Snafu said innocently.

“No, thanks,” Gene smiled. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Babe’s hand tentatively, hopefully reach out to take the proffered cigarette and he smacked it away.

“Gene, come on, it’s been a stressful night.”

“Nope. You quit.”

“Just one--”

“Ain’t you set enough things on fire tonight?”

All of the Hot 4th Floor Guys laughed at that--including Snafu, who really smiled, both corners of his mouth stretching wide and forming dimples as he looked at the ground and his shoulders shook. He glanced up and met Gene’s eyes, and instantly he thought _I’m fucked_.

“My grandma lived just outside of Lafayette,” he blurted out suddenly. “Breaux Bridges, in the parish over? Used to visit her there in the summer sometime.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I always liked it a lot. My dad, he’s not Cajun, but down there it’s really in the heart of it, you know? I swear to God half the people spoke French.”

“Francais me manque,” Snafu said suddenly.

“Oui, je comprends. The only person I know up here who speaks it is my friend Renee, and she’s from Belgium, so… mais, it’s French but not the same.”

Snafu stepped closer, crossing his arms to keep warm, and instinctively Gene leaned his head in to hear him better as he spoke in a low, slow Cajun drawl. His ear wasn’t trained to the sound like it used to be; Philly accents--and New Yorker ones before that--were so much brasher, easier to catch. There was just something more soothing about Snafu’s voice, as sarcastic or swear-laden it might be.

Babe tried several times to give Gene a significant look, but Gene ignored him and he decided to chat with Burgie and Sledge instead.

“Have you been to Cece’s, four blocks that way?” Snafu asked in French. “It’s a Creole place, closest I’ve found to the real thing. Seafood’s too goddamn expensive, of course, but they make their own andouille and it’s real fucking good.”

“No, I haven’t--I went to a terrible Cajun cafe in Poughkeepsie a few years ago and decided never again.”

Snafu chuckled and they spoke for a few minutes more as firemen arrived and confirmed that the building was safe.

“ _Finally_ ,” Sledge muttered with one last dramatic shiver, and he reached out and tugged Snafu’s elbow. “Come on, Snaf, let’s go. It’s cold as hell out here.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Snafu delayed for half a second and then fixed his gaze on Gene’s face with a crooked smile. “You know, your apartment’s probably going to smell like smoke all night,” he said, eyes flickering briefly over to Babe as well. “If y’all wanted to stay with us tonight… we don’t have any extra beds or anything but there’s a couch, and we could always budge up and make room--”

Simultaneously, both Sledge and Burgie kicked Snafu in the shins and he stumbled and began to swear violently.

“Son of a _bitch_ , you motherf--”

“We don’t have any room, sorry,” Burgie said. “Snafu’s an idiot--we started moving around all our furniture yesterday and he thinks just because he didn’t help, it didn’t really happen. But our living room is completely cluttered.”

“That’s all right,” Gene said, trying to hide his confusion as they all headed back inside the building. “We’ll be okay. Um--maybe we’ll see y’all some other time? Find some decent food in this city?”

“Man, fuck you guys,” Babe said cheerfully as they got into the elevator.

At the fourth floor, the Hot 4th Floor Guys said their goodbyes, and then the doors closed behind them and Babe absolutely lost his shit.

“Holy _shit_!” he said gleefully. “Holy shit! You were flirting with him! He was totally hitting on you! Holy shit!”

“I-- I wasn’t-- he-- do you think he was?” Gene said, and if his cheeks weren’t already pink from the cold, they certainly were now. “No--no, I mean he might not even be gay, I don’t think he was really…”

Babe laughed at him. They entered their apartment and began throwing open windows to air out the kitchen.

“Geeze, you really are tired, aren’t you?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Gene. Snafu was _literally_ wearing a shirt that said ‘I’m too gay for this shit.’”

Stunned, Gene tried to remember if he had noticed what Snafu was wearing. But why the hell would he focus on a shirt when he could focus on that _smile_ instead?

“...Was he?”

“Yeah, he was.” Babe shook his head, chuckling, and pulled two beers from the fridge. He opened them both, handed one to Gene, and clinked them together cheerfully. “So really, this was a successful night. I mean there’s one small issue, but other than that--”

“What’s the issue?” Gene said, rubbing at his eyes. It is too late--early--for all of this. Babe grinned.

“They definitely think we’re dating. I bet, right now, his friends are all yelling at him for basically propositioning you in front of your boyfriend. You really should have introduced me as Edward.”

“Oh, fuck.”

“But other than that, this night went perfectly. You are _this close_ to dating him. Hey, listen, at the wedding can I borrow any new toasters you get? I don’t know if you noticed, but ours sucks.”


End file.
